


only fools rush in.

by Ehiel



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableist Language, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Flashbacks, M/M, in one of those flashbacks, little bit of period typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ehiel/pseuds/Ehiel
Summary: It happens too fast. Bucky should have been quicker. More observant. He hadn’t noticed the creature’s weapons begin to take on the same glow as their eyes, hadn’t noticed the one before him poise his gun – not at Bucky, at Steve – before it’s being fired.Steve screams.The creatures turn on Bucky, but they don’t have the time. Three quick shots grounds them. White-hot rage is quelled only by bone deep concern as Bucky sprints to Steve’s side.--In which the effects of the super-soldier serum are negated and the team is left to deal with the consequences.





	only fools rush in.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work was created for the 2017 Captain America Reverse Big Bang and is based off a piece of art by Petite Madame which can be found here!! http://petite-madame.tumblr.com/post/161865758691/
> 
> Please enjoy! <3
> 
> ALSO: It was brought to my attention in the comments that some of the language and attitudes displayed throughout this story are ableist. Some of this is a given, from character to character as each handles the situation differently (and not always positively), but I would still like to apologize for anything in this story that comes across as offensive or harmful. That is never my intention nor are the attitudes displayed by these characters my attitudes. 
> 
> Please let me know in the comments - on any of my stories - if there is anything you would like tagged or you think might need to be edited. Thank you.

Tired doesn’t even begin to cover the feeling settling in to his arms, his legs, his chest. His bones. Tony had tapped out three days ago with a broken wrist and a concussion nearly strong enough to take him out of the game for good. Clint had been surviving on coffee and pain killers, barely. Steve hadn’t seen Nat in a few hours now – the only reason he knew not to look for her was one brief text.

_Tired. Alive. I’ll be back. – NR_

Steve had been keeping himself together up until that point - upright at the very least - but even super soldiers had their limits. Even Bucky had been showing some wear-and-tear. Maybe it’s about time they fell back, brought in some alternates.

The thought is short lived as a fresh wave pollutes the darkening sky – _Christ, what time was it?_ – in a red-orange haze, a new slew of creatures with backwards knees and crystal eyes and long, spindly fingers raining in like locusts. No, not locusts. These had proved far more intelligent than any sort of other-worldly encounter Steve had known up until this point, certainly more intelligent than a common pest.

“Lookin’ a little tired.” The fourth of July had nothing on the kind of colors these guys brought to the sky, but Steve finds the time to look away at the sound of the voice beside him. Bucky stands with the same kind of resolute, mountain-like posture he always takes, but Steve knows him and he knows better. He can see the way Bucky’s favoring a possibly broken left ankle, wants to reach out and try to pick the dried blood off the other’s bottom lip, knows the other is just as rough as he is himself.

“Speak for yourself.” The soldier’s response is weak, at best, a sigh coming out through his nose as his body tries desperately to take advantage of the last few moments of peace before the next fight begins. Luckily, all of this had stayed localized. Luckily, the city had been cleared. Luckily, the civilian damage was proving to be minimal.

It didn’t really seem as though their invaders were particularly interested in mass destruction. No, with their probes and their drills and their calm, steady movements, it seemed that their intentions were mostly scientific. The issue came in the first negotiation – well, threat, really. Stark was the smooth talker of the group, naturally, but sometimes his mouth goes a little faster than his head and what he intends as a compromise comes out a little more like a threat. Threats were handled acutely and violently by these folks, Steve had learned, and with a few fumbled words, Tony had made all of humanity a threat.

“They’re not aggressive. By nature.” It’s almost as if Bucky had been reading his mind and Steve raises a brow. “What if we – What if we just took a break? Manhattan’s been through worse. Come back when we’re in fighting shape, when we can actually do something.” Bucky makes a good point, but Tony had made a better one before he’d been carted off. Letting these creatures peruse one of Earth’s biggest informational hubs without consequence could be dangerous, not just for the country but for the world. Fighting them off, keeping them busy, that was how they were going to do this until someone could come up with a better plan.

“What? Gettin’ sleepy?” Steve smiles, like he always does and Bucky doesn’t smile back. That’s okay.

 

\--

 

“ _Faster_.” The way the computer screen flashes is unnatural, if such a modifier can be placed on the actions of a man-made machine. Glassy, crystalline eyes, already glowing from the intake of information, positively beam as the computer is made to cycle impossibly faster. At seven feet tall, the creature must hunch to keep contact with the computer’s tower, but it’s partner – they look the same, though a series of thin, silver slivers across their forehead betray some sort of ranking definitively higher than their hunched companion – stands upright, a hand on the other’s shoulder as a means of sharing the influx of information. A few moments pass, before the creature speaks again – this time in direct contradiction to what it had uttered before.

“ _Slow down._ ”

 

\--

 

“On your left!” Steve’s shout is nearly drowned out as Bucky launches straight into another of their attackers. With a vast portion of his muscle stored in his thighs, Bucky jumps high and makes contact with his nearest assailant in a way that isn’t necessarily the most graceful or practical method he could have used, but is definitely effective. Steve _had_ always joked he could suffocate between those thighs – so, who was Bucky to disappoint? Taking the creature down with him as the trajectory of his jump changes, he squeezes hard, enough to feel the soft outer flesh of the creature give between his thighs. As soon as his knees hit the ground, Bucky throws himself onto his side, a hand anchored on the creature’s shoulder pushing with all of his strength the other direction. The sound of crackling bones ought to make him cringe. It doesn’t. Quickly, Bucky rolls away and into a crouch, springing up and drawing a gun as he turns towards the creature Steve had warned him about, only to see it stood, still as can be, eyes suddenly glowing.

“Steve!” He calls, taking a few steps closer, gun poised. Questions first, shoot later – that had been a hard concept to drill into Bucky’s head, but they had eventually gotten it. He’d killed too many assets before they could devoid their mind of information, simply for the sake of efficiency. And this – this was new. The – _glowing._

“Busy!” Comes the response and in the time it takes Bucky to glance Steve’s way, the blonde is falling to the ground, out of the grasp of two other creatures who stand unwaveringly still now, just as the one Bucky had in his sights. Unlike the one Bucky had been getting cozy with, these two don’t seem to stare off into space, instead staring directly at one another. Bucky would perhaps have the time to put together that there was some form of communication going on, had it not been for the two creatures turning to face the solitary one.

It happens too fast. Bucky should have been quicker. More observant. He hadn’t noticed the creature’s weapons begin to take on the same glow as their eyes, hadn’t noticed the one before him poise his gun – not at Bucky, at Steve – before it’s being fired.  
  
Steve _screams_.

The creatures turn on Bucky, but they don’t have the time. Three quick shots grounds them. White-hot rage is quelled only by bone deep concern as Bucky sprints to Steve’s side.

 

\--

 

“I told you!” The air is thick, tense. Bucky is due for sleep, Tony shouldn’t even be upright, and Bruce glances at the heart rate monitor on his wrist more than anyone can be comfortable with. “They lit up like a damn light bulb, they took a shot and then, and then-“ Bucky shakes his head and finally, finally collapses to a crouch, putting his head forward in his hands. The uncharacteristic break in composure sends a rush of calmness through the room – Bruce’s concerned gaze turns on Tony, who’s gaze, in turn, finds the ceiling. The silence that follows is somewhere between heavy and hopeless.

This was his fault. If he’d just been paying better attention, if he’d just _shot_ the bastard –

“Хватит.” Natasha’s hands are feather light on his shoulders, but he clings to the contact nonetheless, a lifeline out of the downward spiral his mind was quickly creating for itself.

“It’s not like he’s dead.” Bucky’s head snaps up as Tony speaks to a particularly disinterested ceiling tile. “We just need to be clear on what happened before we – treat it. That really could kill him.” With the obvious stated, the floor is open for any helpful suggestions, leaving Bruce a segue to enter with something sensible after a moment or two of silence threatens to drive them to something stupid.

“Look, we’ve got a basic salve on the burn from the blaster, but I should probably start him on some injections. It’s pretty nasty. Penicillin, to fight the infection, maybe some fluids. Vitamins. Tony, open up the files from the original project, I’m sure anything that was ailing him before he got the magic-juice is recorded in there. I’ll do a full body scan to verify.”

“I’m sorry – did you just refer to the super soldier serum, one of the most astounding feats of medicine and technology of the 20th century, as _magic-juice_?” Tony asks incredulously, and Bruce almost smiles, raising his hands in defeat.

“Look, it’s was the first thing out of my mouth, it’s not like I –“

“Is that what you call every fluid in a pinch? Let me just put some _magic-juice_ on my sandwich. Babe, pour me a big glass of _magic-juice_? Yeah, honey, you ready for my –“ Any light heartedness the banter brings about is cut short when Bucky, who’s been concentrated rather intensely on the floor, speaks up, eyes flashing up to Bruce.

“Penicillin, Steve was - allergic to it? It was pretty new, when we had it. I think. They tried it on him, when he had uh – somethin’, the crud, I don’t know.” He seems to be struggling to remember and it has everyone waiting with baited breath. What Bucky remembered from the 40s was often vague, undefined, but treated as a sign of progress. This was more than progress. This could be life or death for the bare bones of Captain America laying a room over, making his presence known through the faint beating of a heart monitor. “Scarlet fever.” There’s no eye contact made, as if he’s afraid of something. Judgement for being wrong, perhaps, or fear that Bruce would tell him there were no other alternatives.

“We’ll switch it up then. Tony, forward me anything of importance.” Bruce leaves fairly quickly after that, concerned with taking more immediate action, as Tony finally pulls his gaze away from the ceiling, grabbing at his datapad. He sways a little, barely perceptible, but Natasha catches it and sends him a look.

“Careful, tin man.” She says, with only half the bite it usually had.

“Aren’t I always?”

 

\--

 

It’s with some difficulty that they convince Bucky to get some rest and only with the promise that he could take the couch in Steve’s small clinic room. The compound didn’t exactly lend itself to spacious room design, but the couch was long enough for only Bucky’s feet to hang off and with a little curling, he figured it wasn’t any worse than his bed upstairs. Sleeping proves the more difficult thing to accommodate – his head is swimming. Steve had just _dropped_. He’d never seen the other go out like that, not since – not since he was small. Which, Bucky supposed, he was now. So, it made sense. But then again, it didn’t. This shouldn’t be possible – Steve being small. The serum was supposed to _fix_ things. Permanently fix things. Yet, Steve had dropped like a fly, agony voicing in screams until nothing but a pile of thinly veiled bones was left, unconscious.

Bucky had thought he was dead.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t dead, just flirting with the possibility. It made Bucky nervous, uncomfortable. Still – even super soldiers needed their sleep and eventually Bucky succumbs, the unsteady lull of Steve’s heart rate monitor sending him off.

 

\--

 

 _“C’mon, punk. I know you’ve got a little more fight in you than that.”_ _There couldn’t be anything worse than this. He looked like shit, cheeks hollowed, skin pale, blood staining the cracks of his lips from session after session of vomiting. Bucky had seen Steve bad – who was he kidding, Steve always looked bad – but never like this. Never like this. Each small, uneven breath Steve pulled in was music. Not exactly the melodies of Beethoven – more like that modern stuff, that picked up and started when it wanted and played when it wanted and stopped when it wanted, keeping the listener on their toes. Bucky thinks that kind of music is a little better for dancing than for breathing, but he’ll take it over silence._

 _“You two brothers?”_ _The nurse had asked and for a moment Bucky had panicked. Eyes swollen with tears and head ringing from a two-day headache, he’d mistaken ‘brothers’ for ‘lovers’ and all the blood in him had run cold. He knew what happened to people like that, like them. And Steve was so vulnerable, so vulnerable, no one would ask questions if – “You don’t look a lick alike.” Bucky laughs when she laughs, but it rushes out like relief instead of bubbling with humor like hers._

_“Brothers, no, not us.” Bucky nods, releasing the death grip he’d taken on Steve’s hand in his fright to more of a loose hold. Friendly. “Might as well be, though.” The nurse’s smile turns sympathetic and Bucky tries his best not to take offense. She couldn’t care less. Steve could die there on his table and she’d run home to her guy and stain his shirt with her mascara, but she’d be fine a week later. Her sympathy could not possibly turn to empathy, she could not possibly understand the kind of pain losing Steve would induce, the kind of thoughts it would provoke, the kind of things it could inspire._

_“We’re doin’ the best we can.” She offers and it takes everything in Bucky’s soul not to hiss an_ ‘I doubt it.’

 

\--

 

Steve can’t remember the last time he’d had to gasp for air, but he gasps now, his lungs sitting in his chest like old, overinflated balloons that just couldn’t fill again, couldn’t be bothered to try. Stretched out and over-abused, Steve still does his best to fill them, his monitor spiking as he does. It incites confusion, immediately, which turns to panic nearly as fast, especially after he notices the IVs in his arms, the wires running from small, adhesive pads on his chest. He doesn’t even notice he’s trying to pull them off until two large hands take hold of his wrists, halting all motion.

Bucky hovers over Steve, silent, does not release his grip until he can feel Steve’s muscles relax and he knows the blonde won’t try anything. Bucky’s eyes look particularly dull, that grayish-blue they get when he’s just about to fall asleep or just waking up. If the mussed hair and the dry lips are anything to go off of, Steve would guess just waking up to be the cause.

“You look like shit.” Bucky nearly snorts at the other’s words, the blonde’s blue eyes blinking up at him, looking large and disproportionately doll like stuck in his severely thinned face.

“Speak for yourself.” He responds, a parody of their last encounter before the shot. Steve doesn’t seem to remember, those doll-like eyes turning down towards his chest as Bucky gently releases his wrists. Initially, the look is to scout out the damage, but it soon turns to shock and then disbelief. He can _see_ his ribs. He could count them, if he wanted to. Hell, he could grab a couple of sticks and play them like a damn xylophone if he wanted to. “What-“

“We’re working on that.” Bucky cuts in, before Steve can work himself up. Before Steve can ask questions Bucky doesn’t have the answers to. The panic that had already been streaming down Steve’s spine turns to a full blown attack, making his body tense, his breath shorten. “Hey, no, look at me.” Bucky demands. He’s not going to let the kid pass out again. “Steve, c’mon.” His hands take Steve’s this time, gripping maybe a bit too hard. Doe eyes turn to him, wide and afraid. “You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. You have to breathe or you’re going to pass out, do you understand? Then we’re gonna have to do this all over. C’mon. In and out, there you go.” Slowly, slowly, Bucky is able to work Steve back down, barely noticing Bruce slip in to the room as he does. It isn’t until they’ve reached a proper state of calm that Bruce approaches the bed.

“Good news and bad news,” doesn’t seem like a great way to start a diagnosis, but Bucky bites his tongue and sits himself on the edge of Steve’s bed, keeping one of the blonde’s hands in his. It’s unnerving – each knuckle protrudes unnaturally from the finger. He could trace the bones if he wanted to, count each one with ease. “Good news is you should be able to move back into your room by this evening, if you keep an eye on that burn.” Steve doesn’t seem to find very much comfort in it; Bucky remains unmoved. “Bad news is – we don’t really know what’s wrong just yet. The lab is reviewing your blood and urine samples, but there’s nothing to show just yet.”

“Nothing to show isn’t good enough.” Steve notices his voice for the first time as he speaks. It sounds thin, high. Weak.

“They’re trying their best.” The defense from Bucky takes both Steve and Bruce by surprise, though neither say anything to it. Instead, Steve lets his head roll back a little more into the pillows and Bruce opens his mouth – only to be silenced by a shake of Bucky’s head. Bruce waits a moment, before meeting Bucky’s gaze decidedly.

“Can I speak with you?” Bucky’s heard that phrase before and not once had it been good. Still, his curiosity and concern get the best of him and he follows the doctor out into the hall. Bruce wastes no time in filling the other in, speaking in a tone that Bucky assumes is the verbal equivalent of ripping off a bandaid. “The blood tests aren’t looking good. The way the serum worked initially – it attached to the cells, modified them, made Steve what he was. It’s – it’s just gone. It’s not there. There’s – something else. We can’t place it. We don’t know what it is, if it’s a virus, a parasite, we –“

“Figure it out.” Bucky’s tone doesn’t leave space for argumentation and Bruce knows better than to try him. He takes a breath through his nose – eyes the heart monitor on his wrist.

“According to his file, Steve’s got a cocktail to deal with until then. Arrhythmia, scoliosis, partial deafness, pernicious anemia – it goes on.”

“I know.” Bucky’s response has more bite than he intends, but he’s not stupid. He knows. He was there.

“Right.” Bruce says carefully, glancing up from his clip board. “Luckily, this isn’t 1940. I can prescribe as many medications as we think he can take. But, Christ, he’s got stomach ulcers, it’s – it’s not good. It’s not going to be good.”

“I can handle it.” Bruce eyes him warily, but he doesn’t protest.

“I’ll write up instructions. For the medications. We keep him here and we keep him out of trouble. Tony’s looking at it molecularly, I’m looking at it medically. We’ll send the samples to Pym, for some cross reference, and through SHIELD, for good measure, but –“ There’s nothing to satisfy the statement, not that either of them are willing to admit. So, they don’t. Bucky thanks him, gruffly, and Bruce leaves him standing in the hall.

Steve’s fallen asleep by the time Bucky returns.

 

\--

 

_“But, I don’t get it.” Steve protests and Bucky laughs, warm and deep. Steve doesn’t take very kindly to the noise, arms crossing over his chest defiantly. “It’s not funny!”_

_“It’s kind of funny.” Bucky responds, pencil tapping against the open page of his Biology text. He’d always loved Steve like this – curious, hungry, in want of knowledge. Steve’s health had a habit of dragging him behind in their classwork and Bucky tried as best he could to keep him up to date, but it was hard. Especially considering that Bucky tended to just – get things. Explaining them was impossible for him because they just made sense to him. Simple as that. Whether he understood the logistics or not._

_“Buck!” Steve protests, shoving the man’s shoulder. He leans away from the shove as he always does, not because Steve had put in enough force to move him, but rather to give the illusion that he had. It was far from patronizing, at least, Bucky hoped it was. It was more of an attempt to give Steve some semblance of normalcy, to let him feel a little bit like everyone else, even if just in the small things. Steve didn’t seem to notice. Didn’t seem to mind, if he did notice._

_“C’mon, Steve, it just – they just do, y’know? Viruses are like – they’re like the running back, yeah? You’ve always gotta be watchin’ for ‘em and god forbid the moment you don’t, because, BAM!” Bucky yells and Steve thinks he might have a heart attack. “They’re in. And they’re scoring. And you’ve lost the game. And you might be dead.”_

_“You might be dramatic.” Steve responds, a frown barely keeping in place on a face that severely wants to smile. “And a dork.” Bucky gasps like he’s been shot, like it’s the worst blow he’s ever received in his life and Steve gives in and laughs._

_Bucky pretends he can’t hear the way Steve’s breath rattles as it does or the coughs that sound when he’s through._

 

\--

 

“I don’t get it.” Steve protests and Tony sighs, running a hand back through his hair.

“Look, a virus –“

“No, I get the virus. I don’t get why I’ve got it. Or why it’s doing this. Or why it didn’t effect Bucky.” For the two days Steve had been up, he’d been awfully full of questions, but who wasn’t at this point. Nothing made sense. “Or where these guys went, I mean – one shot and they’re gone?” That, perhaps, had been the most perplexing part of it all. There had been no subsequent wave after the one that had taken Steve down. They’d just – gone.

“My best bet would be that whatever virus they got you with was localized. Besides, what Bucky’s got and what you’ve got are two completely different serums.” Bruce tries, only to be promptly cut off for the tenth time this conversation by Stark.

“JARVIS shows an intrusion in the Stark Tower database. Bucky’s off the records, you aren’t. You’re public knowledge. Probably pulled something from that.” That had been the idea they’d been toying with anyway. It didn’t make sense, of course, because the intrusion had a matching time stamp to the attack – they’d happened simultaneously. Even if these creatures had some form of telepathic link, to be able to develop and instantaneously administer an acute virus? It didn’t add up.

Steve doesn’t look satisfied with any of those answers, but he knows he isn’t going to get any better. Not right now, anyway. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust that they’re working, he knows they are, he knows that Tony is beating himself over causing the initial fight, he knows that Bruce finds seeing his teammates in pain insufferable. It doesn’t make being like this any less bearable.

“We’re trying out best.” Bruce says gently, to fill the silence, and Steve nods before slipping off the counter to the floor. He’s lost a significant amount of height and his spine dips to one side, making his shoulders uneven and he feels broken. He feels like every look he gets throughout this entire tower is full of pity. Guilt.

 

\--

 

Bucky follows Steve up the stairs and out of the lab in silence. He can practically feel the heat coming off of the other, can see it where it colors the high points of his cheeks and forehead.

“If you work yourself up like that-“

“I’m gonna pass out. I know. I get it.”

“Steve, I didn’t –“

“I know.” Steve turns just before the door to the elevator in the main lounge. They both knew better than to try and take the stairs any further than out of the lab. “I know, okay? I know you don’t. I know none of you do, but I’m not – I’m dying, sure, but I’m not dead and I would really appreciate it if you’d all stop treating me like, like –“ Bucky can see every cord of muscle in Steve’s arms as he clenches his fists at his sides, an ingrained defense against breaking down. Bucky doesn’t say anything else – he doesn’t want to make Steve any angrier, any more upset – simply stepping forward. He places his hands on Steve’s shoulders first, as a warning, and when he isn’t pushed away he pulls Steve towards him, into his arms. Bucky wonders if he’ll be shoved off, but after a moment, he feels Steve relax against him, a shaky breath muffled in Bucky’s shirt.

“It’s just so fucking _hard_.”

 

\--

 

_“It’s just so fucking hard!” Steve picks up a plate off the counter – one of their three remaining good ones – and looks like he might throw it. Bucky must anticipate it in his stance, because one good look at him has Steve putting it back down, albeit reluctantly._

_“I know.” Bucky says carefully, wringing out a rag in the sink as Steve sits on one of the bar stools in their tiny apartment. They’d done this a million times before – neither of them had to ask anymore. As soon as Steve’s seated, Bucky circles around the counter and slides himself up between Steve’s knees, beginning to dab at the split of Steve’s lip with the rag._

_“You don’t know!” Steve protests, nearly biting Bucky’s finger in the process, causing him to move from the split of Steve’s lip to the split across his cheek bone, for his own safety. “You don’t know, Bucky! You don’t know what it’s like! You_ show up _and they go runnin’! No one wants to be on the receivin’ end of James Buchanan Barnes outside of the bedroom! Me, no one thinks twice about me. I’m fuckin’ dying, Buck,”_

_“Don’t say that.”_

_“It’s true and you fucking know it. I’m dying. And I’m tryin’ to do good while I’m here but it’s so hard. It’s so hard fighting – fighting a battle I can’t win.”_

_“I get it.”_

_“You don’t.”_

_“I’m tryin’.”_

 

\--

 

The next few days carry on at a rhythm. In the mornings, Bucky gives Steve a cocktail injection that Bruce has put together for him, along with a few pills – _we’ve got to watch that B12, if he gets low on that, we’re in trouble_ – they go down to the gym and Steve walks a few laps while Bucky goes through his usual routine. They eat breakfast, check in with Bruce and Tony, take a swing at figuring those creatures out and when they might be back. They spend a lot of time doing that last one, honestly. Steve doesn’t like to admit it, but he fatigues faster, he needs to be down longer, but Bucky is just as in tune with him now as he’s ever been. He’s as sly as he can be about it, asking Steve to go with him to pick up lunch when conversation gets heated and asking him to come and run a training sim for him when it looks like he can’t stand anymore. Steve isn’t oblivious to Bucky’s plots, of course, but he appreciates the tactics over being down-right infantilized, so he doesn’t complain, going along as he’s asked.

Things almost become normal, for week and a half they’re left unbothered. The rhythm they’ve created is familiar and easy, like an old dance one might not do much anymore but that one certainly can’t forget.

“You’re slow this morning.” Steve comments absently, hitting the lap as Bucky circles again around the track. It’s not until he circles back around that he truly slows down, coming to a stop in front of the other.

“Can’t I just take a _jog_?” Bucky protests, a half a smile on his face as he brings his hands to rest on his hips.

“I mean, I guess. If you’re ready to have your ass handed to you when I’m back to myself.” It almost breaks Bucky’s heart. Steve had always had such unwavering faith in things, in the good of things and Bucky – not so much. But he laughs, anyway, and smiles, walking up to the other where he sits on the bench.

“Big talk for a little guy.” Bucky challenges and Steve doesn’t seem too perturbed by it, not like he was the first few days. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”

“Oh, I would hope so.” Even like this – sickly – Steve still managed to radiate life, radiate love, and Bucky’s smiling as he stoops down, pressing a kiss to the mouth in question. Wicked hands slip around Bucky’s neck and keep him there, silver tongue parting his lips. _Little devil_ , Bucky thinks absently, dropping to a knee to spare his back and Steve’s neck. It’s still a little lopsided, but it’s easier for Steve to scoot forward and wrap legs around his waist this way, easier for Bucky to tilt his head up than it is for Steve to, and they stay like this a while, laughs peppering the breaths they take between kisses.

The mood shifts, somewhere in there, and the light-hearted laughter fades out until it’s only their breath trapped between them. It takes nothing for Bucky to slide his hands under Steve’s ass and stand, bringing the much smaller man up with him. Steve takes a breath as Bucky side steps the bench, traps him between the concrete wall and his broad chest. His tongue skirts his bottom lip as Bucky’s face presses in against his jaw, licking, sucking, mouth making a path up to that spot just behind Steve’s ear that he loved so dearly. The noise that comes out of Steve’s mouth brings out a reciprocating growl from the soldier, who tightens his grip a little, drags his teeth.

Steve wonders it it’s better like this. He wonders if it feels any different, but he’s not sure he can really compare in this moment. His eyes roll shut as his head rolls back against the wall, his breath coming in faster and faster. Bucky presses in a little tighter and Steve’s thighs grip onto him, rocking his hips forward, seeking contact. Bucky feels the little change and sets a weak, shallow rhythm, to keep impact low on the man in his arms but give him what he wants. With the blood pounding in his ears, he doesn’t hear as Steve’s breath begins to hitch, pick up a little more and a little more until it’s a little too much.

“Wait.” Steve manages, hands gripping onto Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky stops, immediately, a look on confusion on his face as he lifts his head, before he becomes aware of the rattle in Steve’s chest, the wheeze and the way the blonde tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling, trying to fend off what was bordering on a proper asthma attack. Guilt immediately sinks into Bucky’s gut, but he doesn’t dare put Steve down yet, not until he knows for certain the other is alright.

“Knock knock.” Steve nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice coming from the door. “Sorry to bother you boys, but we’ve got a situation.” Steve makes eye contact with Natasha over Bucky’s shoulder and nods, too close to the end of his rope to do more than blush at the predicament he’d been caught in. “Briefing in five.” Once she’s gone, Bucky gently sets Steve down, opens his mouth to apologize.

“Don’t.” Steve says softly, gently running a hand over Bucky’s stomach and to his side, before starting for the door.

 

\--

 

“So, they’re just – looking.” Clint says in disbelief, watching the activity on the screens Stark had pulled up. Each of the spindly aliens that had lit up the sky exactly an hour before, were walking calmly through the streets of an abandoned Manhattan, carefully stopping at each monitor they could get to, every telephone pole, every satellite.

“Learning.” Bruce corrects. “Look.” He zooms in on one as it reaches for a near telephone line. Immediately as it touches, it’s eyes begin to glow, the luminescence only ceasing when they take their hand away. “They’re – absorbing information.”

“Like they did to get the information on the serum.” Steve interjects and Tony nods.

“Yeah, pretty much. Except, they didn’t do it to get the information on the serum. Getting the information on the serum was some sort of happy accident. They’re just drinking it in. Everything they possibly can.” Tony explains, seeming distinctly more about his wits than he had been a little over a week ago.

“If they’re just searching, what are we being called in for?” Bucky asks from where he’s perched on the counter, arms resting on Steve’s shoulders where the other stands between his knees.

“Well, magnet man, aliens with this kind of power aren’t really the kind of thing we ought to just leave alone.” Tony pulls up a holo displaying a map of Manhattan and all surrounding areas, outlining a perimeter that shows up in a contrasting yellow to the blue of the projection. “We’re going to set up a watch, at the outer rim, in conjunction with local police and military. Keep them contained while we continue to work.”

“We? You’re not going out?” Steve asks, finding it highly uncharacteristic of Stark to not feel some sort of conviction to be directly in the middle of every possible battle – not that Steve had much room to talk.

“I’m going out.” Tony corrects, almost as if he’s been insulted. “We’re just going to all take shifts. I’ll send out some sentinels and we’ll send out trios, to keep an eye. We’ll start with me, Bucky and Nat and we’ll switch it up with time.” Everyone in the room mumbles their agreement – some more pleased than others not to immediately be sent out. “Well. Let’s suit up.” As soon as the group begins to dissipate, Steve turns, hands on Bucky’s thighs keeping him from jumping down off the table.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.” Bucky says decidedly, pushing forward to get down. Steve takes a step back, because he knows he can’t do much physically against the other, though he becomes no less resolute.

“Yes, I am.” He protests, looking over Bucky’s shoulder at Vision, who stands at the ready to aide Mr. Stark as he can. “Vision. What’s the probability of these creatures attacking unprovoked?” The question gets the attention of most everyone in the vicinity, who all go silent to listen.

“These creatures have shown no signs of hostile activity without initial provocation. As the statistic stands, there is no chance of attack without provocation.” Vision responds, after a moment’s computation. Steve looks to Bucky with a _told you_ look on his face and Bucky sighs, glancing Tony’s way.

“If he stays on the quinjet, I don’t see why he can’t go.” Tony looks far more wary than Bucky, but he doesn’t argue, shrugging as he picks up a red and gold suitcase looking apparatus.

“Your call, man.” Tony concedes and Steve grins, not waiting for a retort from anyone else before scampering off to the jet.

 

\--

 

_“So, we just sit here and do nothing?” All eleven years and seventy days of Steve Rogers sitting at Bucky’s hip is impatient, at best, and Bucky rolls his eyes._

_“It’s called_ espionage _, Stevie. We gotta spy. It ain’t gonna work if we don’t know when Ms. Guthrie’s gonna be gone.” Mischief was second nature to Steve and Bucky and they were notorious for it all across the neighborhood. Weathered in their craft, they knew all of the factors to take into account before attempting any sort of proper prank. That necessity, however, didn’t seem to make it any more stomachable for Steven Grant Rogers._

_“I bet if we ran real fast she wouldn’t even catch us.” He says in a near pout and Bucky has to fight a laugh._

_“Oh, you know she would. You’ve been cracked with her cane more than once, you know how quick she is. Doesn’t make sense with those – coke bottle lenses, but,” Steve laughs at that, maybe a bit too loud. When Ms. Guthrie’s porch light comes on, they dart before she can even call,_

_“Who’s out there?”_

 

\--

 

“I can’t believe we’re all just going to sit around and do nothing.” Steve’s voice on the comms makes Tony smile. The guy’d been complaining for the better part of an hour now, back and forth with Barnes, like some sort of old married couple.

“You saw what happened last time we tried to do something.” Bucky responds for perhaps the seventh time this hour. Tony’s chest still stings the way it had the first time Bucky had said it. His fault, he thinks, but he doesn’t say. Not the right time. Bucky is sat on the hood of a cop car, watching absently as the long, spindly extraterrestrials pick their way through humanities databanks. And garbage. He can’t blame them for not knowing the difference, but it’s almost comical.

“Yeah. Went from a chicken strip to popcorn chicken real fast there, Rogers.” Tony says tiredly and Bucky barks a laugh at the absurdity. He doesn’t even have the time to ask what that’s supposed to mean before the nearest trio of creatures are turning their attention rather acutely Bucky’s way. He freezes, spine straightening as he hears the click of guns around him.

“Stand down.” Bucky says cautiously, though he knows better. These cops won’t listen. They never do. These creatures are far from dumb – upon spotting the rows of firearms pointed their way, one of them raises a blaster of his own.

Big mistake.

Steve’s, “What’s going on?” is drown out as one of the cops to Bucky’s right foolishly takes a shot, inciting an all-out fire fight.

“We’ve got this!” Bucky responds when Steve tries to get details again, grabbing on to Stark’s armor as he flies over head, dive-bombing in on a group of particularly vicious opposition. “Call the team!” Steve wastes no time, immediately calling back to the compound and requesting aide. T-10 minutes, he hears back.

They don’t have ten minutes.

Steve’s had enough of sitting and waiting, of being useless. It doesn’t take much for him to slip out of the jet and down towards the line of cop cars that Bucky had once been stationed at. If there’s one thing his new height benefited, it was his ability to sneak. Under the general line of sight and far from the priority in the moment, Steve finds it fairly simple to get into one of the cruisers. He grabs the first thing he can find – an outdated shotgun – and starts running. Immediately he can feel his lungs go tight and his legs threaten to give, but he refuses to stop, getting into the fray with far less resistance than he should have.

That’s when he spots them – five, maybe six, all surrounding Bucky, fists and barrels being knocked against him. It’s when he sees one of them level a gun that he panics, shouting before he can think better of it.

“Hey, you sons of bitches!” He screams, which, surprisingly, draws their attention. They share glances, perplexed, all interest lost in Bucky as they cock their heads towards a very familiar man. “What?” He calls, holding tight to the shotgun until his knuckles began to go white. Bucky panics – if he takes a shot at the aliens, they’ll go violent again. They seem curious, intrigued. Maybe this was their way out. “You think that just because you managed to cancel the effects of the serum I wasn’t going to come and get your sorry asses? _Come on_!” Steve spins the shotgun around, levels it at the aliens who suddenly sink into what Bucky had realized was their base fighting stance, and pulls the trigger. Nothing. Steve looks at the gun, then at Bucky who gently shakes his head.

“Rogers, tone it down a notch.” Tony says carefully, touching down just to Steve’s right. “There are 500 of them, in the area, and all you’ve got to offer is 95 pounds and an old riffle.” Bucky makes a wide circle – Steve traces his path out of the corner of his eye. Bucky’s got his gun in hand and Steve immediately thinks something must be wrong. Bucky preferred to move with weapons holstered – it made him more efficient. Steve’s attention is drawn back towards the aliens, who, as Steve drops the rifle, lower their guns in kind. He nearly panics, as a solid arm wraps around him from the left, coming to rest on his chest.

“Steve, it pains me to admit it, but for once, I agree with Stark. We’ve got this.” He insists, turning Steve around to start towards the quinjet.

Big mistake.

Where Bucky usually carried his own gun, there was settled one of the alien riffles, which their adversaries spot immediately. Bucky supposes theft must be quite the ordeal on their planet, because immediately they begin to riot, crowing out pained noises and raising their rifles.

“You should go back to the quinjet.” Tony insists, before shooting off of the ground to take the skies.

“Now.” Bucky says, leveling Steve with a look that dared him to cross him, before darting back off into the fray.

“Like hell I’m going back.” If there was one thing Steve was good with, it was a shield. He supposed a ballistics shield was better than nothing and he takes the nearest one he can wrestle out of an officer’s grasp before darting off on his own.

As terrifying as seeing Steve standing out there, alone, with a shotgun had been, it had betrayed an important element in combating these guys. Distraction. Give them something new, something fresh, and their curiosity would overcome their hostility.

“Barnes, the library on fifth avenue. Full of information.” Tony barks over the coms and Bucky changes his path.

“On it!”

It takes longer than he would like, wrangling them in there, drawing their attention to exactly the kind of knowledge hub the computers and novels here provided. By the time he and Stark make it out, they’re tired and more than a little bloodied.

“… you son of a –“ Steve’s voice on the coms robs the moment of its reprieve. Bucky looks up at Tony immediately.

“Where is he?” He demands and Tony takes a moment to pinpoint, before taking again to the sky.

“Back towards the barricade. Let’s go.” Bucky chases after Tony as quickly as he can, listening intently to the comms to try and figure out what kind of shape the other was in. There are sounds of something solid hitting something soft, which Bucky can only hope is Steve beating down on the creatures and not the other way around.

“Give it back to me!” Steve’s voice sounds desperate, angry and Bucky’s brows knit together, trying to figure out exactly what they’d taken. “You took it from me!” Steve continues. “You made me like this!” The serum. Of course it was.

Bucky runs faster.

There’s a moment of static on the comm, before a voice came through, sounding not unlike someone speaking underwater.

“Something must be taken to be returned.” There’s screaming after that and faster, harder thumping, before the line goes silent.

When Tony and Bucky arrive, it’s to find Steve, crouched in the middle of a duo of unconscious creatures, trying fervently to catch his breath. The blonde stands as soon as he notices them, trying to keep his back as straight as it can be.

“Bucky –“

“Shut up and get back to the fucking jet.” Steve doesn’t argue and Bucky tries not to flinch as the other limps back towards the quinjet.

 

\--

 

The ride home is uncharacteristically quiet. Scott, Vision and Clint are already out on sight before the others reach the compound, ready to keep an eye on any rising chaos while the others take a while to recover. Bucky doesn’t even wait for the quinjet to properly dock before he’s cueing the hatch down.

“Bucky –“ Steve tries again, but the man says nothing, simply hopping off as soon as there’s room. Anger begins to bubble up in Steve’s chest and when he finally makes it off the quinjet, he double times it after Bucky, who he manages to catch up to in the main hall as the other attempts a hasty escape to his room. “Fuck’s sake, Bucky, I’m not a fucking fragile –“

“Yes, you are!” Bucky turns on a heel and Steve stops dead in his tracks, hands balled into fists at his sides. Bucky notices, glances to them and glances back up at Steve’s face. “What’re you gonna do? Punch me?” He hisses, the plates of his arm whirring undecidedly. “You’d break your fucking hand.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You would.” Bucky insists, taking a step forward. “You want to know why? You’re a ninety-five pound medical disaster, Rogers. I could break you like a fucking twig.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t, you’re right, but they would. Those creatures? Out there? They fucking would. And you just dove head fucking first into –“

“You needed help!”

“Not from you!” The hallway goes eerily silent after that and Bucky’s brows knit together. He looks like he could cry. He doesn’t.

Steve does.

“Not from you.” Bucky says, shaking his head. “We need you alive.” He continues. Steve can see his tongue trace the inside of his lip, an anxious habit he’d had since they were kids. “I need you alive.” The silence settles again, interrupted only by Steve’s erratic breathing, induced by the day’s activities and the tears he was trying so desperately to hold back.

“I’m sorry.” Steve finally manages, tears falling in full force. It’s not good for him, none of this is good for him – he’s practically hyperventilating by the time Bucky crosses the hall to him and the brunette barely catches him when he falls, crumbling forward and emptying his guts on the polished concrete. “I’m sorry.” He says again, now for a different reason, and Bucky gathers him up carefully.

“Yeah, me, too.” He says gently. At a glance, Bucky spots blood in Steve’s vomit and he finally allows himself the ability to cry. He remembers this. Distinctly. “C’mon, I’m gonna pick you up. Stay still.”

Steve passes out before they make it downstairs.

 

\--

 

“Any news?” Steve had been down a couple of days now. He could get up, during the day and move around, but Bruce wanted him more carefully monitored and had taken to keeping him in medical at night. Bucky had begun to frequent Tony’s lab – Tony didn’t sleep anyway and Steve’s absence made it hard for Bucky to sleep himself. Tony turns away from a heated discussion he’d been having with Hank, looking flustered and fairly aggravated.

“I don’t fucking get it, man.” He huffs, looking up at a holo full of information Bucky couldn’t possibly understand, but thinks at one point he might have liked to. “ _Something must be taken to be returned._ ” Bucky had been thinking about that, too. There were no obvious traces of the serum, it was gone. At least, that’s what Tony had said. “I’ve been running some tests. I’m trying – I’m trying to at least dissolve the virus. We don’t know what kind of effects it could have long term, if we leave it. Everything I’m trying just dissolves the cell itself and I’m not really in the mood for euthanasia right now.”

“Probably not the best course of action.” Bucky agrees, leaning back against one of the benches.

“This isn’t like any virus I’ve ever seen.” Scott sighs. “I mean, usually viruses infect. From the inside.” Tony stops, looking over at the other man.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this one – it’s like a film. It’s sitting outside the cell. But, it’s obviously not drawing from the cell, the cells are healthy. Well, as healthy as Steve Rogers’ cells can be.” Bucky can see it the moment the wheels in Tony’s mind start turning.

“Out.” He says quickly, waving his hands. “Everyone out. I think I’ve got something.”

 

\--

 

_“I don’t see why they kept me so long. I’m alright.” Steve sighs, finally sinking onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion evident as Bucky sinks to the ground to remove Steve’s shoes._

_“Alright my ass, Rogers, you looked like shit.” Steve knows better than to believe the joking tone Bucky puts on._

_“I don’t mean to put you through this.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I don’t want you to hurt for me.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I just can’t sit by and watch people –“_

_“Steve.” Steve looks down to meet Bucky’s glance as the other shifts onto his knees, planting his hands on the bed, bracketing the blonde’s thighs between them. “I know.” Steve leans forward, hands cupping Bucky’s face._

_“I don’t deserve you.” He mumbles and Bucky laughs._

_“Nobody deserves me, doll.” Steve kisses him gently, at first, and then with a little more vigor, until Bucky is pulling back, keeping their foreheads together. He whispers like he’s sharing a secret._

_“You ain’t in any shape for any of that, now, and you know it.” Bucky pecks his lips one more time, gently pulls away. Steve flops back against the bed._

_“One day, you’re gonna touch me and you won’t be afraid.”_

 

\--

 

“You’re stayin’ here.” Steve wants to argue, Bucky can see it in every fiber of the man’s being, but he bites his tongue and for that Bucky is grateful. “We’ll be back before you can miss us.”

“Miss you already.” Steve hums as Bucky pecks his forehead.

“Gag me. Really, just gag me.” At Tony’s heckling, Steve presses one firm, filthy kiss on Bucky’s lips.

He misses them both when they’re gone, not that he’s ever going to admit it.

\--

It’s chaos when they return. Tony’s lost too much blood – they’d dismantled the armor like nothing, peeled him out of it like a god damned banana. Played with him like a toy. Steve isn’t awake when they come back, he wakes hours later, only to have Bucky try and gingerly explain exactly what had happened.

“I could have helped him.” Is all Steve can say, over and over.

“No, you couldn’t have. You nearly got yourself killed the last time, you definitely couldn’t have protected him.”

“I could have.”

There’s no use in arguing, Bucky knows, so he leaves. Lets Steve go down to see Tony for a while. They could both benefit from the fresh air.

 

\--

 

Things are relatively quiet for the next few days. Tony comes around well enough and locks himself up in the lab, working on trying to figure out the conundrum of their invaders, of their little science experiment on Steve. On Tony. How had they known exactly which point in the suit to go for? How had they known about his bad hip?

It’s late at night – or, early in the morning, depending on how you thought about it – when Bucky gets the call.

“I think I may have got it. I don’t know, I can’t guarantee. The trials aren’t working, but I –“ _need the company,_ Bucky fills in. _Need a crosscheck_. Bucky’s down there in an instant. Every day is getting a little more bleak and he wants good news. He wants to believe there’s an answer.

“Tell me about it.” He says, as soon as he’s entered the lab, and Tony sits up from the microscope he’d been hovering over.

“Scott was right. It’s not a virus, it’s – it’s a film. A casing.” Tony sighs, running a hand back through his hair. “It’s an inhibitor. Nature’s fuckin’ super-condom.” That’d be funny, in another context, Bucky thinks, but he hardly has it in him to laugh now. “I’ve isolated the composition of the film and I can break it down.” That’s good news; Bucky perks up a little. “When I break it down, there’s even traces of the serum in it.” Better news. He gets a little more hopeful. “That’s the issue, though. There’s traces. What I’m using currently to break down the barrier is taking the serum with it. Whatever this thing is doing, it’s encasing the serum and if I can’t isolate a solution for it that is safe for use around the serum, then – then we risk being stuck with this Steve.”

“We aren’t _stuck_ with him.” Bucky snaps, looking down at his toes and Tony winces.

“You know what I mean.” Bucky knew what he meant. This Steve wasn’t Captain America. This Steve wasn’t beneficial – this Steve was burden. Bucky would be lying if he said he’d never thought like that. He had, of course he had – but it still hurt to hear. He loved Steve so much, that to think of him as anything less that incredible – it hurt.

“I’d rather have him damaged than dead. Figure it out.” Bucky leaves before Tony could say anything – not that Tony was going to say anything – and hopes that in all that brain of his he could figure something out.

 

\--

 

_“This is dumb.” Steve huffs, hands on his hips as Bucky steps aside to restart the record. “I’m not gonna get it.”_

_“C’mon. You’ve just got to feel it.” In the evening was when it was best for them – no callers to interrupt, no one spying on ‘em. The world was asleep; The world was theirs to exist in. Steve watches as Bucky sways back and forth to a record that skips now and then in its old age, smiling as he sits on the arm of the couch._

_“I just don’t get it like you do.”_

_“Alright.” Bucky decides. “If you’re not going to, I guess I’ll have to dance for both of us.” Steve can’t fathom what that must mean, baffled as he watches Bucky cross the room and slip on his old, worn out loafers. He looks ridiculous like that, in his shorts and his undershirt and his loafers, but Steve doesn’t mind when he floats over and offers him a hand._

_“I thought you were dancin’ for both of us.” Steve says, standing up as he takes Bucky’s hand._

_“I am.” Steve squeaks as Bucky puts his hands under his armpits and lifts him, setting him back down on top of his feet._

_“Arms around my neck, punk.” He says, voice ever-so-slightly strained, and Steve does as he’s told, rewarded in kind by Bucky’s arms around his waist. After they’re securely in place, Bucky begins to sway, carrying the both of them on his two feet. “Feel it now?” He asks, a whisper in Steve’s ear nearly a song and a half later._

_“Jerk.”_

 

\--

 

“I want to go this time.” Steve catches Bucky’s arm just barely as the other tries for the quinjet. He spins on his heel, anger and urgency in his eyes.

“I said no. This is bigger than it’s been, you could barely handle the small shit.”

“I’ll stay in the quinjet!” Steve protests, chasing after Bucky as he steps aside towards the armory.

“ ‘Cause that worked so well the last time.” Steve freezes in his tracks, watching as Bucky steps aside to restock on ammunition and weaponry. He wasn’t going to sit another fight out, damn it. He couldn’t. Not when his friends were going out to die. Not when the fucking hoard had just burst through the heavens. He’d never be thankful to be this size again, but he could at least use it to his advantage – and he does, slipping on to the quinjet as the team finishes suiting up. He’ll hide, as long as he can. If they find him – so what? They aren’t going to throw him off the jet.

The mission briefing goes well enough once they’re on the plane, Tony having stepped into Steve’s shoes in the Captain’s absence. He doesn’t seem nearly as cheery or sarcastic as his usual self – then again, no one really did. What they were going into sounded an awful lot like a death sentence. Still – they were Earth’s mightiest heroes. This was what they signed up for.

The fight is just as nasty as they had projected. Tony knew better – he knew that the love of knowledge was never purely altruistic. That knowledge was what now would be their end. These creatures that come to them now, they’re bigger, stronger. These are the tanks, the warriors. These were bred to fight. There isn’t a lot of time for brains where the battle was involved. Staying alive and staying contained, that was the goal.

With the quinjet forgotten, Steve is able to monitor flight patterns and ground plans, able to watch the enemy forces as they moved. He’d been in a war once – he knew a little more than nothing about tactics. It didn’t take him long to realize one central point of origin – the main ship, hovering just over Stark Tower. Figures. It was like the battle of New York all over again. But, if it really was the battle of New York all over again – that could only mean one thing. Take out the queen, you take out the bees. The more Steve contemplated, the more it made sense. The shared information, the communal knowledge and generation. They were all one being, connected. Shit, what was that thing off Star Trek? The Barg? The Bork?

“The Borg!” Steve slams the comm button as soon as he’s figured it out, much to the shock of those on the other end.

“Steve?” Bucky is the first to answer, pure confusion and panic in his voice. “What the fuck are yo-“

“Stark, The Borg! It’s like that, they’re all communal! The information, the generation, the way they work. You’ve gotta take out the main unit.” Bucky doesn’t respond immediately, like he wants to, because he knows the importance of letting Stark figure this one out.

“I mean, I see what you’re saying, but there’s no way we could even get to the central unit at this point, we’re lucky we haven’t been fuckin’ roasted.” Stark responds. “Maybe if we-“

“I’ll do it.” Steve answers. He doesn’t wait for a response, severing the connection.

“Steve, no!” Bucky yells, but nothing greets him in return. “Steve!” He screams, but it does no good. Somewhere in the distance he sees the quinjet rise. No. No, he thinks. He was lucky enough to die before he had to watch this the first time, he was not about to watch it again. “Stark! We have to stop him!”

“Busy!” Tony responds.

Bucky takes off running.

 

\--

 

There’s something calming about death. Steve had been there once, not unlike this. Besides – if he was going to be stuck living like this the rest of his life, was it worth living? Would there even be a life to live if they didn’t defeat these guys? Steve sets the flight path directly for the center of the main ship and leaves the helm. He doesn’t want to watch this time. He doesn’t want to know when. As fast as he can, he arms all of the ships explosives, everything they had on board, and opens the back hatch. When they hit, they were gonna hit. He was going to be sure of that.

He doesn’t remember much else.

 

\--

 

_It’s stupid, Bucky thinks, as he grips onto the peeled back side of a speeding freight, as he reaches out for Steve’s hand. As many times as he’d begged Steve to consider, to think about others before risking his life, here he was. Doing the same. Learned from the best, Bucky supposes._

_When the car wall breaks, when he begins to drop, he feels no peace. His greatest regret will always be leaving Steve behind._

_He doesn’t remember much else._

 

\--

 

“Give it to him. Give it to him _now_.” The IVs, the tubes, the monitors, each device artificially keeping Steve’s barebones from finally giving in.

“It hasn’t worked successfully, we don’t know if it will, he could fucking die, Barnes!” Tony practically yells. The man looks tired, worn. He’s been trying so hard and Bucky knows he doesn’t deserve the berating, but they’d barely managed to get Steve hooked up. This wouldn’t be sustainable.

“He’s already dead, Tony!” Bucky responds, and everyone in the general vicinity goes silent. “He’s already dead! That body, that’s not him. That’s not him in there, he’s fucking dead already. You think those IVs and those fucking feeding tubes are life? They’re not! Just fucking do it.” Bucky can see the reluctance in Tony’s eyes, can see where tears shine but refuse to fall as he turns and motions to Bruce.

They take out the tubes first, take off the monitors, everything except the central IV and the breathing tube. It would either work, or it wouldn’t. That was that. Tony punctures the IV bag and administers the compound he’d created, the compound that would hopefully spare Steve the pain, the discomfort. Be that one way or another.

Bucky asks everyone to leave.

They do.

 

\--

 

_“You look – bigger.” The first time Bucky had seen Captain America, it had been with a jaded, painful glance. It had seemed unnatural at the time and it had made Bucky uncomfortable. It was never the muscle or the stamina that had made Bucky so upset, but rather – the lack of dependence. Bucky’s entire life had been defined by his service to Steve Rogers. A service that wasn’t required any more._

_It had taken him a while to realize that this was how Steve was supposed to be. This was everything he had wanted to be. The fights he wanted to take, he could, the things he wanted to do, he could. It had taken him a while to realize that love was a mutual dependence, one that was defined by the heart and not the body. Either way, serum or no, Bucky was in love with Steve Rogers. There was nothing the world could give or take that would change that simple fact._

_As long as Steve was alive, Bucky would be, too._

 

\--

 

“I don’t see why this is necessary.” Steve sighs, looking down at Bucky from the inch or two of height he had on him. Steve never had been much of a fan of parties or galas, not even ones thrown in his honor. Especially not ones thrown in his honor. Still, Bucky had thought it was important and as soon as Tony had proposed it, Bucky had been on board. The kind of man it took to sacrifice himself willingly and recklessly – that was a man to be celebrated. Perhaps, as well, the man who saved him, the man who’s antidote had brought Steve back from the cusp of death yet again was deserving of some praise, but Tony refused, Tony always refused.

The guilt always kept him from his glory.

“I do.” Bucky hums, slipping his hand into Steve’s.

“And why’s that?” Steve asks, raising a brow. Those hums only ever rarely meant good things, coming from Bucky’s mouth.

“Because. I think after everything you’ve put me through, you owe me a dance.” Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest as Bucky pulls him out towards the floor.

“You know I don’t dance.” He says weakly, all further argumentation fading at Bucky’s smile.

“You can stand on my toes, if you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Feel free to contact me at https://cold-soldier.tumblr.com if you have any requests for me!
> 
> Have a great day, kids <3


End file.
